Happily-Ever-After-Until-You-Die
by littleoddstar
Summary: (A continuation of The Lonely Swing, Lonely No More - AKA The bits in-between) Harry has found a new home in the TARDIS and the Doctor has found a new... friend. They have many more things left to find and learn but will one of them be love? (Eventual Doctor/Harry slash. T for abuse mentions. If you haven't read TLS, LNM, then you will have no idea what's going on. Enjoy!)
1. Happiness is Somewhere I've Been Before

**Happily-Ever-After-Until-You-Die, **a fic set between The Lonely Swing and Lonely No More.

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Chapter One: Happiness is Somewhere I've Been Before

_The song for this chapter is Aperture, by Sleeping at Last._

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When Harry awoke, he was drowned in panic that dulled the pain that rushed to meet him. The bed he laid on was too soft to be his one at Privet Drive, and the absence of voices clamoring for his attention and servitude left a hollowness in the air. His breathing quickened, his mind screaming its confusion. Where was he? What had happened? Had he been taken? His shoulders protested the movement and his ribs cried as he moved his hands underneath him to push himself up, his eyes opening to see an indistinct blanksness. But there was blurry figure dressed in brown rising up to meet him, a cool hand pressing against his shoulder and lowering him gently but firmly onto the soft bed. It was then that Harry remembered the Doctor.

His breathing stilled and stopped as his eyes sought the Doctor's, his mind only slightly soothed by the comforting smile adorning the Doctor's face. Had the Doctor been watching him sleep? Heard his cries, seen his nightmares? A burning shame filled him at the thought, staining his cheeks a flushed red, which deepened even further as he recalled how he had clung to the Doctor before. The Doctor muttered something indistinct before turning to the bedside table and picking up a glass of water, bringing it up to Harry's lips. He pushed himself up slightly and sipped the water gratefully. The red flush on his cheeks grew as water spilled down his chin, and when the cup was empty he brought up his hand to wipe it away with an overlong sleeve.

"I said you were fixed, but what I meant was "You don't have broken bones anymore, but healing those was physically taxing and you're going to feel tender for a while" and "I am very, very sorry that this happened to you"," the Doctor said softly.

"In that case, I don't feel quite so bad about falling asleep on you, even though it feels like I had a round with the Whomping Willow," Harry said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was safe.

A sudden wave of drowsiness washed over him after this revelation, leaving his eyelids heavy and shaping his mouth into a yawn. He lowered himself back into the pillows and let his eyes fall shut, safe under the watchful eye of the Doctor.

When Harry next woke, the room was empty, with a cup of water and some toast on the bedside table. His usual glasses were absent, replaced by the pair with a white frame the Doctor had gifted him, and his trunk had been moved to the floor beside his pillow. He pressed a hand to his ribs, wincing at the press of his fingers against tender flesh. All the same, he leant off the bed, opening the (unlocked) trunk and blinking at the white paper that lay on the surface of his belongings. He pulled it out alongside his photo album, which lay underneath it, and lifted it close enough to his eyes that he could read it.

_Harry_, it read. _I scanned your trunk to verify that there weren't any hexes or curses - you never know with magic - but didn't look through the contents (much). You have some lovely photos. With care, the Doctor._

Harry opened the book and, after pausing briefly on the images of his parents, flicked through to the halfway mark, where Hermione (his throat closed up at the memory) had added more sheets to place photographs on. There was one of the three of them: Harry smiling, happy; Ron grinning, healthy; and Hermione, her face bright and tanned and so so alive. A pang echoed through the hollowness in Harry's chest, and he dashed a hand across his eyes as he turned the page, encountering picture after picture after picture of Ron and Hermione, Hermione and Ron, their faces happy and coloured.

Another page held a picture of Sirius, who brushed his messy hair back from his eyes and smiled before showing the camera a messily drawn picture of a heart. Molly and Arthur Weasley smiled up from a photograph, the kitchen of Harry's second home in the background. A dragon soared across the sky, a gift from Charlie; the sun rose over a pyramid as Bill waved, his earring glinting in the light; Fred and George whooped and cheered as fireworks spread throughout the room, Ginny watching on in awe. Harry laughed wetly as the pillow was set on fire and George rushed to put it out, the sound catching in his throat.

Harry wanted so badly to go back, to live in the moments before everything had fallen apart. But all that remained back in England was a war he was expected to win, a family depending on him, and pale faces with shadows under their eyes. He forced himself to take a drink of water and nibble on some of the toast before he let the darkness of sleep swallow him once more.

The next time Harry woke, the pain had faded from his limbs, leaving behind only a dull ache and annoying stiffness. He got out of bed slowly before stretching the muscles and testing the limits of his movement before coming to the conclusion that exploring was a thing that he could definitely do. He picked up the glasses and peered at them through squinted eyes before putting them on. He blinked. The glasses sat comfortably on his nose and the pain that had accompanied wearing his old glasses was absent. Looking down at his clothes - a plain white shirt and loose grey pants - he walked decisively over to the door and opened it.

The hallway was a cool blue-grey, green-blue highlights threading through the ceiling and framing the doors. Harry reached out to touch one of the lines, eyes widening as it lit up and glowed. He began walking down the hallway, his finger tracing the glowing line as he looked around, an expression of awe on his face. A few turns away was a door labelled "Ponds", the floor in front of it a sheet of glass above an actual pool with flickering lights within it. The lights played against the ceiling, painting it with shimmering and shifting patterns.

After five minutes or so of unlabeled doors and branching corridors, the glowing streak moved down the wall to run along the floor, the smooth, metallic wall being replaced by a beige, coral-like surface. There was a red door labelled, 'Donna's room: No Space-men Allowed', a white door with a simple 'Martha' on it in blue letters, and a wooden door with a beautiful rose carved into it, the etchings revealing a layer of pink that seemed to flow along the flower like a stream.

After that hallway, the streak shifted up the wall once more and Harry followed it for a few minutes more, his mind made pleasantly blank by the mundane task of walking along a line. He soon found that at the end of it laid a purple door framed in the green-blue line, and opened it to find a surprisingly modern kitchen. Some toast on a plate already sat on the black and white speckled counter, a glass of orange juice beside it. Harry hadn't realised how hungry he'd been.

He downed half the juice in one gulp before slowing down, taking sips as he nibbled at the buttered toast. He found his gaze drawn to the ceiling, which held a glittering galaxy that shifted ever so slightly as he tilted his head. When the toast was nothing but a few crumbs on the plate, he yawned, bringing a sluggish hand up to ruffle his already-messy hair. Loathe as Harry was to admit it, the walk had taken a lot more out of him than he'd thought it would.

He stood and make his way back to the door, opening it and gasping in shock as he discovered the room he'd woken up in, though it would have been impossible to tell if not for the fact that his trunk sat at the foot of the newly added four-poster bed. He walked in further to see a change of clothes sitting at the foot of the bed, and he sluggishly pulled them on before collapsing into the pillows. He was asleep before his eyes even closed.

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_What's this? A rewrite of HEAUYD that will hopefully lead to a full story? Why yes, it is! If anyone is OOC, it's because I haven't seen Doctor Who or Harry Potter since 2014. Feel free to start throwing tomatoes at any time._

_\- Little_

_Edit: 19.6.16 - fixed some continuity errors! Harry is now "slightly tender" as opposed to "grievously injured"._


	2. Wars Behind Faces and Above Throats

Chapter 2: Wars Behind Faces and Above Throats

_The song for this chapter is Migraine, by twenty one pilots._

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"Harry?" Hermione asked him again, fear making her voice waver.

"What?" he snarled, irritated. Sirius had to be here, he had to, otherwise he had led his friends into danger again for nothing...

"I... I don't think Sirius is here."

Blackness swirled around him, taking him further, deeper into the realms of his nightmares, where he could never escape. The sounds of battle were harsh whispers and the whipping sound of wood travelling through air, the soft noise of spells and the hum of blood, adrenaline, magic. The Death Eater Hermione had struck dumb slashed his wand through the air, his mouth forming unheard words, sending a purple flame through Hermione's chest. She gave a soft 'oh' as if in surprise, and crumpled to the ground, her eyes still staring into the nothingness.

Harry froze, unable to move. His vision twisted and distorted as Neville began crawling over to the bushy-haired brunette, his nose and wand alike shattered by the Death Eater's kick. Blood dripped from his nose, the splatters staining the floor red. Harry stood dumb, unseeing, unable to answer or think of anything bar Hermione's prone form, her mouth still open in shock, her hair spread across the floor. Dolohov's demands for the prophecy fell on mute ears, because Hermione was just lying there and she wasn't moving and he was praying that she wasn't dead, she couldn't be dead because then Harry would have as good as killed her.

But she was and they couldn't do anything and she wasn't breathing and Neville couldn't feel a pulse and Harry was shaking her, crying for her to wake up but she wouldn't, couldn't. Harry remembered that she had brought some books on the muggle sciences to school after the Christmas holidays. Written on the shiny pages in black ink were the words, '… after death, the pupil dilates and the cornea fogs up, creating a blackened, smoky-looking eye...' Ron had teased him for looking at the book. He'd said that Hermione was infecting him.

Harry almost couldn't bring himself to look. But, surely enough, Hermione stared out through white fog, unable to see through her glassy, blackened eyes. She was dead. And not even magic could save her. And he was falling, drowning in the blackness, unable to breathe as his chest tightened and eyelids lowered and he collapsed beside her, cheeks wet and body numb. Then he awoke with a start, gasping out breaths through the steady flow of tears.

The door opened not a moment later, the blurry figure of the Doctor walking through it. Harry sniffed and wriggled his way into a seated position before bringing his hands up to his eyes, wiping away his tears as he looked down at his lap. The Doctor sat on the empty bedside table, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. He didn't look up, but felt his cheeks grow hot and he hoped that any redness could be put down to the wiping away of his tears.

"Crying for people you've lost isn't anything to be ashamed of," the Doctor said, his voice low, "Rather, if you hadn't cried, I would have been afraid of the darkness taking away your greatest ability."

"Love," Harry said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his hoarse voice. "Dumbl- the headmaster always said it was love. But I don't- I don't understand what he means."

The Doctor considered this, his brows furrowed slightly in thought. "Maybe you don't have to understand it. Maybe you just have to feel it."

"Me loving people has gotten them killed, Doctor," Harry said, looking up at him with fire in his eyes. "My parents, Hermione, Sirius - they all died because I loved them, and because they loved me back. People caring about me kills them, not saves them."

"It saved you," the Doctor pointed out. "You parents, they loved you enough to die for you, and it saved you."

Harry looked down at his sock-clad feet. Dumbledore had always said that he had to return to the Dursleys for the blood magic to be renewed, the spell that his mother had cast by loving him enough to die for him to be strengthened by Harry's association with her sister. Could Harry do the same? If he were to allow Voldemort to kill him, would it save everyone else?

"You're saying that my greatest ability is to love people enough to die for them?" Harry said slowly, his thoughts running rampant.

"Perhaps you could avoid the actually dying part, but yes." The Doctor paused, as if shocked by his own statements. "Maybe you should try to get back to sleep."

The Doctor left the room, and Harry tentatively went back to sleep.

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_The fact that I'm writing this (again) is insanely ridiculous to me, and yet here I am! I hope the quality of writing makes up for the literal two years that I wasn't writing this for._

_Catcha!_

_\- Little_


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